Submerged
by katelisalyn
Summary: After the loss of Stef Dawson, the cast of Mockingjay has to scramble to find a new actress. They search through millions of girls before finding the perfect one: a fangirling aspiring actress named Aria from Colorado. Little do they know that after a decision on their behalf for Aria, she will become the true essence of Annie's character: mad.
1. Chapter 1: Sam's POV

Hands shake. Tears fall. We all stand above the casket, our heads bowed in reverence. Her family crowds by her head, weeping. All we can do is close our eyes, turn our heads, and pray for a new beginning. A new tomorrow. We know it will be so very, very hard to find another to replace her. Stef will never be replaced in our hearts. All of us, including me, have treasured her as a friend, a fellow actress, an ally. They teased that since we played lovers in the movies, we should be enemies in real life, but nobody could be mad at Stef for very long. She was too sweet and kind for that.

I walk beside her, my hands folded into the coat of my tux I rented just for this day. My eye catches on Josh and Liam, both outfitted in tuxes, and who are huddled by Jen and Jena, also outfitted neatly in black dresses. The four of them talk in whispers, and Jen bites her lip for a moment. They cast worried glances at me, and when they see me watching them, turn back and whisper more.

One part of me wants to run over to them and demand to know what they're hiding. The other part tells me to let them be. They're mourning, too. They miss her. They wish she were still alive so the show could go on.

But she isn't.

I never had any romantically feelings toward Stef. We were just friends. We talked, laughed, had coffee occasionally. We told jokes on set to get the jitters out.

And, when my wife stunned me, tripped me, and made me fall flat on my face in an affair I did not see coming, when she ripped out my heart and left me with the broken pieces, and when I came to the set of a day in filming in tears, she was there. Everyone there came to my side and comforted me. They helped me to relax, and to let go. Stef was there, biting her lip and getting me tea. Josh was there, trying to calm me down and asking me if I was going to be okay. Jen was there to squeeze my shoulder and crack a few jokes at her expense. Liam was there to tell me that I could toughen it out. I knew I could.

It just felt impossible at the time.

"Sam?" A voice jolts me out of the memory, and I wipe the stray tears away with my sleeve. Francis Lawrence, our director, is standing before me in a suit, looking forlorn.

"Y-yes?" I ask, trying to erase my look of hopelessness.

"When would you like to look into re-casting?" He asks, not meeting my gaze. I sigh, running my hands through my chemically-dyed hair.

"Can we not think about that right now? Can we just mourn her, and move on when we are able to? Is that too much to ask?" I ask, my hands shaking as if I'm on drug withdrawal. I tuck them in my pockets to keep them occupied, my eyes flickering from Stef's casket to Josh to my shirt to the ground.

Now it's Francis' turn to sigh. He turns, looking at each of Stef's family members. He's probably assessing my question, as he is biting his lip.

"Sam, I wish I could say no. I really do." He turns to me, his face a mix of pity, sadness, and weariness. "If I were just your friend, I would wait for as long as you would like me to. But, Sam, I'm not just your friend. I'm the director of a movie-a very popular movie-that has a deadline. I'm sorry. I will give you a day to think about it, and the rest of the cast, and come to me when you have a plan." I don't even have the time to say anything, as he turns and walks over to who I assume is Stef's mother. She has tears streaming in rivulets down her face, and is holding a handkerchief to her mouth and nose. A man I assume is her husband is standing next to her with his arm around her shoulders. I want to walk over and offer my condolences to them, but I don't know how to do it without feeling awkward. Instead, I walk over to Stef's headstone while some men are digging the hole for Stef's coffin in the dirt. I look at her name, and trace the indented concrete with my finger.

"If only you knew how much pain you've wrought upon us, Stef." I murmur, a sigh making its way through my throat and out into the air, where I didn't want it to go the moment I made the sound. I don't clasp my hand to my mouth-as that would be totally distracting and bring attention upon myself-but I instead clamp my mouth shut and just focus on her name. Stef. Her full name was Stefanie, and she told us never to call her it. I joked around with her from time to time, saying her full name just to make her mad. She hated it, but I loved seeing her flustered, since she usually isn't. Well, wasn't.

It feels so hard to think of Stef as past.

She was.

She did.

She had.

I still want to think of her as still here, as still alive and still kicking. But, alas, she isn't.

That is one thing she can still be: dead.


	2. Chapter 2: Aria's POV

With a shaky hand, I reach out and press the enter button on my keyboard, watching as the page loads, and 'Sent Successfully!' flashes out brightly on my screen. I sigh and run my hands over my face, not caring anymore if they smudge makeup or make my hair a mess. I did it. I just recorded myself with my Mac's camera, and sent it online to a place I hope to be someday-with the movie Mockingjay.

Last week, the director Francis Lawrence announced Stef Dawson-the actress who played Annie-had passed away and they were in the process of searching for another. After hours upon hours of trying to find the website to send in an audition video, I finally found it, and began to practice exactly what I would say. I used the Mockingjay book, of course, as well as interviews from Stef and Francis about Annie. I felt I knew the character after several weeks of hard studying, and tried to make myself look as much like her as I could. Being 5'5" would help tremendously if I got the part, as Sam Claflin-who plays Finnick, Annie's husband-is six inches taller than me.

If you were to see me on the street, you probably would think I'm of Irish blood. Well, to tell you the truth, I'm not. My mother's side of the family is fully German, and my father's side is Scottish, which both have some genes of red hair, hence where I got it. I don't have a flowing mane of red hair like Merida in the Disney movie _Brave _or a cute bob like Black Widow on _Avengers. _My hair is like Sansa Stark's in _Game of Thrones. _How I know what to compare my hair to is an easy one: I'm a bit of a fangirl.

My parents are both into fiction. My father, Miles Ryan, is a screenwriter and director and my mother, Cynthia Ryan, is a famous novelist and part-time actress for my father's movies. Both have dined with famous actors and authors, and both have a pretty good standing on the social ladder in Hollywood. That is how my parents met: my father was 16, and looking for a pretty girl to play someone in a movie. He put auditions out, and my mother was among twenty-three girls who auditioned. She got the part, and my parents started dating. They were wed after they both graduated college, and I came along a year later. Seventeen years old now, I'm homeschooled, and an only child as well. My plethora of pets are my only company most of the time, but that's okay. They seem to listen better anyways.

Well, back to the part about me being a fangirl. I love books. I have loved books since I was a little girl. When my mother introduced me to the Hunger Games series at age 12, I was hooked. I read them and re-read them dozens of times, to where it became an obsession. Through the Hunger Games, I was introduced to fine books, such as The Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter, Divergent, and Percy Jackson. I was also introduced to _Game of Thrones_ in my freshman year of high school, and found that was where my name came from: Arya Stark (my parents misspelled it on purpose). I was so proud to take the name that I bought _Game of Thrones_ posters and memorabilia, as well as a few Hunger Games posters here and there.

That's why I'm sitting here in front of my desk, my hands shaking over my laptop keys, just trying to figure out the right things to say on all of my social media sites (i.e. Facebook, Twitter, my own personal website, my blog, etc.)

'Just auditioned for the part of Annie Cresta! Wish me luck! ;)'

'Auditioning for a movie is hard work…#grateful #mockingjay samclaflin joshhutcherson_92 jenamalone'

Once I finish posting, I sit back in my swivel chair, spinning from side to side with a smile on my face.

_If anyone were to walk into my room right now, I would look insane. _I pause in my spinning, and laugh to myself. _Wait, I am insane. _

A message pops up on Facebook:

'Omigosh! Tell me when you get it!' My best friend Sofia sends me a message, and I have to smile. Sofia and I have been friends since preschool, and when she moved away from our hometown of Boulder, Colorado last year to some fancy place in Illinois, we were both heartbroken.

'I shall! How's life in Illo-no-ay?' I ask with a smile, cracking my knuckles after messaging back. I wait impatiently for her to reply back, putting my sock feet on the desk and swiveling around some more.

Finally, she replies:

'It's good-it would be great if you were here! Mark is as sweet as ever…yesterday he gave me a rose just because he wanted to! I'm so lucky :)'

'That's great :)' I say, but on the inside, jealousy flares up within me. A month after Sofia moved, she got asked out by this guy named Mark, and they've been dating ever since. But me? I'm still a single Pringle, as Sofia likes to say. No guy has ever been-or probably ever will be-interested in asking me out.

That's why I want to pursue acting. The only heartbreak you have is within the character you are playing, and the busy schedule would make it near impossible to have a partner.

For that, I am both grateful and a little sad.

Because I won't have anyone to share my excitement with.

* * *

**Hello, fellow readers! It's hipsterism here, the author of this book-and many more! I have written for Maximum Ride, the Inheritance Cycle, Divergent, Pirates of the Caribbean and the Hunger Games!**

**I just wanted to say that I REALLY appreciate it when you press that little 'Follow/Fave' button or drop a review or two! They will help me to write faster because I know you enjoy them!**

**Thanks!**

**~hipsterism**


	3. Chapter 3: Sam's POV

Francis doesn't even need to say anything for me to know that he needs us to move on. The minute he walks in the door, we all know. Jen reaches over and grabs my sleeve tightly in her hand, her knuckles turning white. Josh puts his hand on top of hers, and she releases my sleeve, looking sheepish and scared.

We all are.

"You all know why I am here, I assume." Francis says, his voice echoing through the meeting room. Willow lets out a feeble sob, then covers her face with her hands. Jen stands up and goes over to Willow's chair, putting her arms around the girl.

"Yes, we do." Liam growls, not meeting anyone's eyes. I feel his anger, but I dare not show it. Especially since Francis wants me to shape it up so we can move on.

_If _we can move on.

Francis claps his hands together, scaring the daylights out of everyone in the room.

"So, let's get to work." He says quietly, placing his palms on the table in front of us. I open my mouth to object, but Francis raises a hand, silencing me back into my quiet mourning. "I know, I don't want to do this either. I've given you all two weeks. Two weeks of filming scenes without her, two weeks of black-wearing and crying yourselves to sleep. I understand you all miss her. I miss her, too. She was a great actress. Even though the world was just getting to know her, we all knew she was something else. She was someone who could walk into a room and bring smiles on everyone's faces. She was someone who brought little treats and surprises for all of you at one point in time, and we can never repay her for all of the little things that she did for us." Francis pauses, taking a deep breath. "And now, she's gone away from us forever. There isn't any way we can bring her back from the dead-unless, you know, one of you can with some power you haven't told us about yet-so we must move on." His last comment would usually make us all laugh, if it wasn't actually about a friend that we all dearly loved and all terribly missed. "We must move on." He repeats. "Sam, what do you think? What should we do first?"

I take a deep breath, opening my mouth slightly. I haven't spoken to Francis since the day of the funeral. I haven't really spoken to anyone these past few weeks. Mourning takes a heavy toll on one's mind, and I haven't really, truly made the connection that Stef is gone forever, and she's never coming back.

I cough in the back of my throat, and prepare myself to speak. My mouth suddenly feels very dry, but I will myself to say the words without a second thought.

"I…I know we can't mourn her forever." I say. "To me, it feels like another…another Laura happening, you know? It hurts both mentally and emotionally." I pause, blinking back the sudden rush of tears that I never expected would come. Not right now, at least. "But…we can't stay in mourning forever, like Francis said." I take a deep breath, and look over at Francis, who is slowly standing up at my words. He must be surprised that I am agreeing with him. "We have to move on eventually. She would want us to move on. She would want us to wipe the tears from our faces, stand up, and do what we did before she passed. She would want us to be Katniss and Peeta and Gale and Finnick, like we were before she died. She would want us to say: 'You know, she's gone, and there's nothing we can do about it. We have to move on.' That's what she'd want us to say. So, are we going to mope around in mourning and self-pity while she's gone, or are we going to live our lives, still missing her, but doing what we can to remember her in everything that we do?" I feel like this speech is more for myself than anyone else, but it feels good to get words into the air again. It feels good to say what I want, instead of saying what other people want me to say. "And that's what I think. I think we should find a new actress, who can play Annie very well. We should start hunting the Internet." Francis nods to my words.

"Thank you very much, Sam. Your words are much appreciated." Francis replies, and as I sit down, everyone looks at me with gratitude in their eyes. I sigh, and run my hands repeatedly through my hair. I know I'm mussing it up, but at this point, I don't care. We're going to get this problem solved. Even if it's going to take forever and a day, we're going to find someone to replace Annie.

The least of my worries should be my hair, at this point.

* * *

**So...this story is one of my least liked here on fanfiction, and yet, it's one of my favorites. Is there something missing here that I don't understand? Is this story just not interesting enough? If it isn't, I won't waste your time, and mine, writing this. **

**If you do enjoy it, then...tell me! Please! I won't update if you don't want me to!**

**I don't bite!**

**~hipsterism**


	4. Chapter 4: Aria's POV

My fingers twitch over my keyboard after Sofia sends me a message that I can't seem to reply:

'When do you think a guy will ask you out?' I bite my lip, and inwardly try to see what I look like, staring into my screen with blank eyes, my hands hovering over the keyboard. I must look like I have writer's block on the next chapter of a book, not a simple message back to my best friend.

_When has this become so important to me? Having a boyfriend? _I think to myself, shaking my head in disbelief. _Why am I even worrying about such things? _Sighing, I type back:

'Let's hope that doesn't happen yet. Please. I enjoy the single life.'

_There. That should be good enough. _I think, hoping that she doesn't make any more comments about me not being single, because it's something I don't want to think about at this moment. I'm not interested in guys-or girls-and hope that I won't until the right man comes along, sweeps me off of my feet, and is 'The One' for me. Though, I seriously know that the idea is preposterous in itself. No guy would ever fall for someone like me.

"Aria! Please come downstairs and help with dinner!" My mother's shouts echo through the floorboards of my room, and I sigh, slamming my computer shut.

"Perfect timing, Mother." I mumble to myself, snatching my iPhone from the desk and shoving it into the pocket of my skinny jeans as I run down the stairs and to our large kitchen, where Mother is standing at the sink, peeling a potato.

"Can you grab the colander and wash the beans, please? And pluck them when you're done."

"Of course." I say, walking to the cupboard where we keep the large bowls and grabbing the metal colander from the lazy Suzan. I throw it into the sink and grab the beans from the fridge in their large Ziploc bag. As I open the bag and dump them into the colander, Mother just so happens to ask:

"How do you think you did in the audition video?" I sigh, slapping the sink on.

"I don't know. I don't really want to talk about it. It's over. I sent it in."

"I know, but aren't you proud of your accomplishments? Many girls your age would kill to be in your position! Or any girls at all." She says, turning to look at me over her shoulder.

"I doubt I'll be chosen over the thousands of girls that would audition. You know how girls flood over Sam Claflin at red carpet events, especially since he's single now." I say with a huff, grabbing the colander and shaking it around. Sam Claflin split with his wife of a year, Laura, after he discovered that she had been cheating on him with another man. He rarely showed his face anymore in public. I wondered how he was getting along with Laura's insolence and fellow cast member's death at the same time. Blinking, I shook my head, trying to stop thinking about it.

Why would I ever care about an actor as large as him when he has his own friends who worry about him? He's got millions of followers and admirers, while I'm a nobody. I live in small-town Colorado and drive a two-door, dinky, 2003 Dodge Stratus, while he's probably got a huge house in California, with a bodyguard and expensive car that gets 50 mpg and leather seats.

Compared to him, I am a nobody. A tiny speck on the map.

I just have to accept it.


End file.
